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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23012626">Solace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxic__waste/pseuds/toxic__waste'>toxic__waste</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, Longing, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:56:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23012626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxic__waste/pseuds/toxic__waste</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a weird little drabble I wrote sometime last year about being closeted in high school and yearning for your friend. Unedited and largely unthought about</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Solace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I uh, found this on my laptop even though  I have literally no recollection of writing it. Thought I may as well post it as why not</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The large room was streaked with the morning sun pouring through the window. Black clothes lay discarded across the floor, a leather jacket draped over the back of the shitty computer chair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan lay on his bed facing the ceiling with his eyes closed. A beat thrummed inside his headphones, attuned to his racing pulse. The bed was a mere double mattress placed atop wooden palettes picked up off the side of the road. The room had a visibly dank quality, although upon closer inspection there was never anything dirty. Simply not thought about. He was currently clad in a white t shirt, a rare shift from his usual black, and grey trackies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was perfectly still on the mattress. The still of dawn granting entry to the aches lurking in his heart. Twas not when chaos reared its teeth that he became overwhelmed, oh no. A pond must be still in order to see any ripples, one cannot observe these in a rapid. But my, my, are there ripples indeed. He thought of dancing with Adam, to this bass-heavy number. Bouncing and thrashing about, bearing that sort of furrowed pout one does when they think they are killing it on a dance floor. He did not allow himself to dwell on dancing to something more sensual, more permitting of close quarters and bodies. No, that would tug too hard on the old heartstrings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was a tale of two very masculine Boys. At this tender stage of teenage hood, of uncertainty, the thought of slow dancing, and Touch, well, he knew too well how painful those feelings were to indulge. So instead he daydreamed of a bonfire in a field. Beer flowing like water. Littered cigarette butts and garish techno blasting from somebody’s car. The loud music rebounding off the dense thicket of trees surrounding the party. Ronan with his eyes closed, nodding emphatically to the beat. Adam languid, near him, stooping his upper body every second beat (doing this to every beat would be, well, thrashing). What if Adam were to turn and grin at him from where they both leaned back onto the car. What if he extended his hand to Ronan and he led them into the trees. What if he turned to Ronan once they were alone, and clasped Ronan’s other hand, and then his hands jumped to grab Ronan’s forearms while they held a gaze. Adam, initiating with power and whimsy, lips curled in a lusty smirk. Ronan letting himself be shoved backwards, shoulder blades hitting a tree, Adam pinning his arms above his head. What if. What if. What if.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan’s insides boiled with shame and he rolled over onto his stomach and let out a frustrated groan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop it dude, you idiot. You fool!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! UGH.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had a habit of chastising himself out loud when alone, developed as a result of being home alone whilst the others were at school. He wasn’t supposed to daydream about things like That anymore! It was already difficult enough to be around Adam without indulging such childish fantasies. Worse than that, he felt predatory. He couldn’t think about his friends like That, they’d be so disgusted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Flopping back onto his elbows, he sat up and glared at the door. Coffee smell had wafted into his room meaning Gansey was up. Meaning he now had to stow any lewd feelings thoughts ideas desires wants back behind their locked enclosure in the back of his mind. Behind a brick wall. Underwater.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>********</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gansey glanced up at him from where he leaned against the kitchen counter. Round glasses low on the bridge of his nose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Morning.” They mumbled dutifully to each other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sputtering began from the moka pot, and Gansey poured the two mugs he’d prepared next to the stove. He passed one to Ronan that had ‘GOLF WIDOW’ emblazoned and sipped from his own that said ‘WHERE THE HELL IS MY PROZAC?’. They sipped in quiet contemplation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You coming in today?” Gansey asked resignedly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan squinted for a moment, delaying response. He hadn’t thought about going into school today yet. He thought about putting on a uniform and being in class and grimaced. He also thought about passing notes to Adam proclaiming their math teacher was the spawn of Santa Claus and a crocodile, watching Adam sputter and then turn to glare, unimpressed face, eyebrow cocked. Adam’s raised hand in class, answering something in Latin. Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hm. He supposed he didn’t exactly have much else to do today.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Okay. But I’m driving there alone.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan waltzed into class at the last possible second before it would be considered late and claimed his usual seat next to Adam. The boy in question shot him a sleepy grin. Ronan stared back blankly, reminding himself that no, Adam could not pluck his morning’s fantasies from his brain and therefore Know.</p>
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